


Sunshine on a rainy day

by fortytworedvines



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, bernie's cottage is actually really tiny, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 09:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortytworedvines/pseuds/fortytworedvines
Summary: Rain derails Bernie and Serena's trip to a trauma surgery conference. Luckily (and unexpectedly), Bernie owns a cottage they can take refuge in.





	Sunshine on a rainy day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProfessorFlimflam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFlimflam/gifts).

It’s autumn; mellow fruitfulness, a beautiful season of golds and oranges and reds.

Of course, Bernie isn’t enjoying any of that as it’s currently absolutely pissing it down and she’s driving up the M5, with Serena, to a conference on trauma surgery. Her attention is approximately fifty percent on the road, hazy with spray, and fifty percent on Serena, who is snoring gently in the passenger seat.

It’s new, this. Being alone with Serena. Even in their office there’s the hubbub of the ward outside, in Albies they’re always surrounded by colleagues. But here, with the rain hammering on the roof of the car, it’s just the two of them, and every inch of Bernie prickles with the awareness of Serena a mere breath away from her. Her eyes flicker over to Serena again. She looks as comfortable as anything, head pillowed against what Bernie is almost positive is her own Holby hoody, certainly not like she’s in anyway bothered at this new intimacy. They share an occasional heated glance and soft looks over wine, but Serena flirts with everyone; Bernie is sure she is alone in her feelings. Alone and suppressing them as hard as she can.

A car swerves violently in front of her and Bernie jams on the brakes. “Shit!” she says as she fights to control the car on the damp road.

“Are you okay?” Serena rubs a hand over bleary eyes. “Oh, it’s looking bad out there.”

“I’m fine. It’s not great,” Bernie acknowledges. The rain blathers down even harder. A haulage lorry passes them, the name Rob McKenna only just visible on the side.

A motorway sign looms red in the rain. “Road closed due to flooding...” Serena reads, then glances at the satnav. “Oh no, that’s ours.” She leans forward to poke at it, sighs in dismay. “It’ll take hours longer now.”

“We could -” Bernie begins hesitantly.

“What?”

“It’s just – I have a cottage, not far from here. If we take the next exit we could be there in half an hour. We’ll miss the conference dinner whatever we do, now. What do you think?”

She risks a look sideways. Serena is gaping at her. “You own a _cottage_?”

“Inherited it. Don’t spend much time there.”

Serena smiles a little. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises. Let’s call in then, maybe the weather will ease off a bit. This is getting dangerous.”

The car slides on some standing water. “Yes. Okay then, cottage it is.”

Thanks to the weather, it takes nearly an hour to get to the cottage. Bernie is exhausted from the terrible driving conditions and Serena nearly as tired from watching Bernie tackle them. It’s not a big cottage, not that Serena had really known what to expect at all, the idea of Bernie owning a cottage being so utterly foreign. It’s tiny, in fact. A little two-up two-down thing in a terrace. Bernie parks her car neatly on the street as close to the front door as possible and bundles herself up in her coat. Serena looks regretfully at her umbrella, which doesn’t seem to be quite as useful against the weather.

“Wait here,” Bernie says, “I’ll get it open and then you can run for it.”

“I don’t run,” Serena scoffs but Bernie merely smiles briefly and makes a dash for it. It’s getting dark now and Serena can barely see her through the damp gloom as she fumbles in the rockery by the door before straightening, finding the lock and opening the door.

“Here we go,” Serena mumbles to herself. She grabs her handbag and umbrella both, swings her legs out of the car and plants her feet straight into a puddle. “Oh,” she gasps as the water runs straight through her sensible flats.

“Come on!” calls Bernie from the door and Serena stumbles up the path to join her.

Serena kicks off her damp shoes with a shudder, props her umbrella next to Bernie’s dripping coat, by the front door, goes through the second door into the living room with some curiosity. It’s a cosy little room really, enough space for a sofa, armchair and a little bookshelf. There’s an open fire, which Bernie is kneeling by, coaxing flames from the coal.

“It’ll warm up once I get this going,” Bernie says over her shoulder, and soon enough the flames are beginning to roar.

Bernie sits back on her ankles and looks at Serena a little ruefully. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Don’t be,” Serena says, subsiding onto the sofa with a groan, “This is definitely better than spending hours zigzagging across the countryside.” She looks around the room again. “Do you spend much time here?”

Bernie sits by the fire, a little awkwardly. “I try and get up once a month, just to check on the place. I stayed here a bit after Marcus and I finished. Cam and Charlotte come out occasionally too.”

“That explains the literature,” Serena nods at the bookshelf. It’s filled with Victorian classics.

Bernie laughs. “Definitely more Charlie’s style than mine. Look, I’ve got tins and things, if we wanted to cook for dinner but, seeing as we won’t be enjoying the conference dinner tonight, what about takeaway? I don’t have any wine though, I’m afraid.”

In the warmth of the fire Serena is already feeling more relaxed. “Takeaway sounds fine. And I’ve got a bottle of Shiraz in the car.”

“Of course you do,” Bernie says.

From somebody else, Serena might feel judged, but Bernie slants a smile at her, and Serena laughs. “You know me well.”

The gloom of the still-torrential rain makes it seem late but it’s still only the afternoon, so Bernie puts the kettle on and makes them coffee. Serena arranges their damp things around the fire, watches steam rise off them in soft curls as they begin to dry. It all feels wonderfully domestic.

“Here you go,” Bernie says, passing her a mug. “Strong and hot.”

“Just like I like it,” Serena says, and they both smile. Bernie perches awkwardly on the arm of the sofa, looking ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. Serena reaches over and pats her leg. “Relax, soldier.”

Bernie laughs a little and slides carefully down to a more comfy seat, and as Serena leads the conversation around to the conference, she looks more at ease.

“You should be giving a paper,” Serena says, after Bernie gives a fascinating account of a surgery that she did in Afghanistan.

Bernie looks slightly abashed. “They did ask, actually.”

“Why did you say no?”

“I wanted to concentrate on getting our trauma unit up and running.” Serena stares at her, and Bernie smiles slightly. “It means a lot to me. I can give a paper another year, I won’t get to set up a trauma unit from scratch with you again.”

Bernie’s face softens and Serena touches her hand. “Thank you.” She means a lot, in those words, and she thinks Bernie understands that because she catches Serena’s fingers and squeezes them gently.

The kitchen is just as tiny as the living room, but there’s a table large enough to spread out the veritable feast that they’ve ordered. Bernie heroically braves the rain again to retrieve their wine and bags from the car and they eat and drink and Serena can’t remember the last time she’s felt so happy.

Somewhere around their second glass, they decide not to try and push on to the conference this evening. The rain is still pouring – Serena quips that they’ll need an ark when they leave and Bernie honks a laugh – and the lure of the warm cottage and the fire is just too great.

“I’m glad we’re here,” Serena says as she pushes her empty plate away from her. “Instead of at the conference, I mean. I feel like we’ve never had any time alone, just the two of us.”

Bernie toys with the stem of her wine glass. “Is that something you’ve wanted?” she asks, “Just us?”

It must be the wine, or maybe it’s the warmth of the cottage and the drum of the rain outside, but Serena puts out a hand, stills Bernie’s and is unequivocally honest. “Very much.”

The brilliance of Bernie’s smile almost makes her gasp.

“I don’t think I can eat another bite,” Bernie says after a moment of silence, “Why don’t we go back to the fire?”

Serena agrees promptly and they make their way, wine in hand, back to the living room. Serena sits down on the sofa and it suddenly seems much smaller than before as Bernie sits next to her, legs curled up underneath her and her shoulder just, oh just, brushing Serena’s.

They talk about everything and nothing. Serena’s entranced by the dance of the flames and the way Bernie’s body is pressing against hers as they slide inexorably closer. The air seems thick with expectation when eventually Bernie sighs.

“We’ll have to get off early in the morning to make the opening lecture,” she says, “I’ll show you upstairs.”

Leading Serena up the narrow stairs in her cottage seems unreal. She clears her throat as they reach the top. “Bathroom,” she gestures, “And here’s the bedroom.”

“Just the one?” There’s a crack in Serena’s voice.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Bernie says, “I’ve got loads of blankets.” They stare at each other for a moment. Bernie’s heart is hammering.

“Don’t be-” Serena chokes a little, “Don’t be silly. You can’t possibly sleep on the sofa, you’re yards longer than it is. There’s plenty of room for two of us in the bed. It’s not like there’s much of you.”

Curling up on a sofa beside Serena had felt like a wonderful form of torture. Bernie is not sure she’ll survive a night actually sharing a bed with her. But Serena is waiting, a little hopeful smile on her face and Bernie thinks – _maybe_.

“Okay,” she says eventually. “I’ll bring my stuff up. Feel free to use any of the things in the bathroom.” She flees back down the stairs without waiting for an answer. She’s going to share a bed with Serena, see what Serena wears in bed. Oh god, what _does_ Serena wear in bed? Bernie is sure it’s something effortlessly glamorous. She’s only packed her old RAMC tshirt and a pair of joggers that she’s had forever. She’s going to look a right scruff.

Trying to work off her nervous energy, she washes up their dinner dishes quickly. The kids always joked that her cottage has all the mod cons – by which they mean, plumbing and electricity. Dishes have to be done by hand, there’s no internet and no tv. Her mind wanders to the last time they were all out here, Cam and Charlie camped in the living room and all of them playing silly card games for hours. Maybe they’ll do that again sometime. Maybe Serena will be there too. Bernie gulps and stows the last dish in the draining rack. Serena has had plenty of time to get sorted now, so she grabs her bag and hurries up the stairs to her fate.

Serena is tucked up in bed when Bernie creeps, washed and changed, into the bedroom. She’s reading, but closes the book and puts it carefully on the bedside table as Bernie comes in. “Hello you, wondered where you’d got to.”

“Just clearing up,” Bernie murmurs as she slips carefully into the bed, making sure to keep right at the edge.

“Oh! I would have helped.”

“I know,” Bernie says, “Just wanted to give you a bit of time.”

Serena rolls onto her side. With her face clear of make up, dark hair strewn over Bernie’s pillow, she has never looked more beautiful to Bernie. “Come here,” she says softly, and reaches out to pull Bernie closer.

“I – um. It’s been a while since I shared a bed with somebody,” Bernie says, even as her pulse races at Serena’s touch. “And I’ve never shared with a friend before.” She tries to hold firm to her side; the last thing she wants to do is scare Serena. But Serena moves closer again.

“Am I a friend?” Her dark eyes hold Bernie captivated.

“Colleague?” Bernie backtracks hastily, a lump settling in her throat.

But Serena shakes her head. “An I j_ust_ a friend?” she clarifies, “I was – I was rather hoping I might be something more to you.” Now she’s reaching out to tuck a blonde curl behind Bernie’s ear.

Bernie’s tongue feels heavy and unwieldy. “More?” she manages.

“Stop me if I’m wrong,” Serena whispers and suddenly soft lips are pressed against Bernie’s, withdrawn again after a second.

Bernie opens her eyes to see Serena staring at her, half hopeful, half worried. Her cheeks are flushed and Bernie can see the pulse in her throat pumping. “Not wrong,” she says and closes the gap between them, finds Serena’s mouth and lets herself drown in the sensation of kissing Serena Campbell.

Serena’s nightgown is shiny satin, cool to Bernie’s touch. Serena doesn’t seem to mind the threadbare old tshirt, slides her fingers underneath it and Bernie shudders at the feel of the soft touch dancing over her hips, her waist. Serena’s fingers slide higher and Bernie finds herself holding her breath,

“Wait – wait,” she gasps, lets go of Serena to catch her hands. “Is this – are you sure? What about tomorrow?” She’s not sure she’ll survive a one night stand, could never go back to a working relationship after finding out what Serena feels like, what she tastes like…

“I’m sure,” Serena says simply, “And I’ll be sure tomorrow, and for as long as you want me.”

* * *

“I’m so sorry,” the receptionist at the hotel says, “But as you’re so late we let your rooms go. We only have one left.”

Serena slips her hand into Bernie’s and smiles. “That won’t be a problem.”


End file.
